


Tears Over Beers

by reysrose



Series: Your Graduation [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hospitalization, Let Ronan Lynch grow out his hair, M/M, Ronan stops drinking, Sickfic, Vomiting, declan is a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: Ronan stops drinking.It goes about as well as anyone expects.
Relationships: Declan Lynch & Matthew Lynch & Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: Your Graduation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880149
Comments: 8
Kudos: 162





	Tears Over Beers

Day 1

“What are you doing?” Adam asks, as he walks into the kitchen after a summer shift at Boyd’s that had run late. Ronan grunts at his boyfriend and tips another bottle into the sink. 

He had realized, at 8 pm, laying on his couch and fully drunk and lonely even though he knew Adam was coming home, that he had a problem. And because Ronan Lynch doesn’t do anything halfway, he decided the only way to deal with his problem was to eliminate it completely. 

“Dumping liquor down the drain,” he slurs, still hammered, “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re spiraling,” Adam murmurs, one arm wrapping around Ronan’s waist. Ronan gags a little at the smell of antifreeze clinging to Adam’s work shirt, stomach already rolling from the sheer amount of vodka he’d consumed earlier. Adam tugs his fingers off the neck of the Aristocrat bottle, and sets it down. Ronan snarls and tries to turn but he does it too fast and the world spins a little. He slumps forward into Adam’s chest, pressing his face into the juncture between Adam’s neck and shoulder. 

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles. Adam starts rubbing circles on his back and Ronan feels his body start to melt into Adam’s arms. 

“I’ve been drunk every night,” he says. Adam says nothing and Ronan feels himself get annoyed at him. “I know you’ve noticed,” he groans, “Say something.” 

“Ronan,” Adam sighs, “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“We’re in a relationship,” Ronan snipes, bending low over the sink and dry heaving, “You get to have an opinion.”

“Are you quitting?” Adam asks, “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“You don’t pour vodka down the drain for no reason,” Ronan snarls, and then he throws up. It’s pure alcohol (when was the last time he’d eaten? Jesus, he’s fucked) and it burns badly on the way up, worse than it did going down, and some comes out his goddamn nose. Adam cups his forehead and reaches for the tap, running cool water over Ronan’s head. 

“I don’t think cold turkey is the way to go,” Adam says when Ronan isn’t actively vomiting but instead panting over the sink, “It can be dangerous.”

“Gotta do it,” Ronan gasps, “All or nothing.”

“Okay,” Adam whispers, “Okay. Then I’m calling out of work for a few days, and we’re telling Declan what’s going on.”

Ronan dry heaves, hard, and feels muscles under his ribs bunch up with the force of it.

“Can’t make you do that,” he mumbles, as his knees buckle and Adam catches him, “You gotta save up.”

“Boyd will understand,” Adam murmurs, and then he’s lifting Ronan into his arms and carrying him to the couch. Ronan groans. His head is starting to throb hard and he squeezes his eyes shut and holds onto Adam’s wrist.

“Hey,” Adam says quietly, “Let me go get a trash can and something for you to drink, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay,” Ronan slurs. His mouth tastes like shit and he’s shivering, and Adam is stroking his forehead with a calloused warm hand.

He’s asleep before Adam gets back with his water. 

Day 2

When Ronan opens his eyes, Declan’s face swims into his vision. He’s been tossing and turning for God only knows how long, exhausted and aching but completely unable to sleep. His head is pounding an aggressive tattoo against the backs of his eyeballs, and has been for as long as Ronan can feasibly remember. Not really, but as far as Ronan is concerned he’s been detoxing for 100000000 years. Declan taps his cheek to get him to focus. 

“Adam called me,” Declan explains, “He’s worried you’re too sick for him to deal with alone.”

“Tell me you didn’t bring Matty,” Ronan groans, getting his elbows under him and shoving himself to sitting. His head spins and his eyes cross, and Declan has to catch him so he doesn’t pitch off the couch. 

“He’s in the kitchen with Adam right now,” his brother says, holding Ronan by the shoulders. Ronan feels a wave of bile rush up his throat and he swallows hard and tries to breathe.

“Here,” Declan says, hand cupping Ronan’s forehead and bringing up the trash can. Ronan never wants to throw up ever again, but here he is, spitting painfully acidic bile into the dirty plastic trash can his poor boyfriend has to clean out. It’s fast at least, and he slumps into Declan’s abdomen and whimpers. 

“You’re burning up,” Dec says, the back of his hand on Ronan’s neck, “come on. Adam wants you to try toast. Says you haven’t eaten in almost a day.”

“Correction,” Ronan slurs, tugging himself to standing with Declan’s sweater and immediately collapsing into his side a little, letting his heavy head fall to his big brother’s shoulder, “I have not kept anything solid down in almost a day. But I have eaten.”

“You’re far too blasé for someone in the throes of alcohol withdrawal,” Declan grumbles as they limp into the kitchen, because Ronan hurts straight down to his bones and he’s shaky and weak. Matty cheers when Ronan comes in the kitchen and it makes his skull throb. Declan glares at him sharply and Matthew shuts up, looking chastened. 

“Hey,” Adam murmurs, subtly helping Declan shift Ronan’s weight so he’s against Adam’s sturdy, lean side. Ronan presses his face into Adam’s shoulder and groans, because he’s starting to shake again.

“Did you get to sleep at all?” his boyfriend asks, one palm cupping his neck, “You’re burning up.” 

Ronan shakes his head and feels his left knee crumble beneath him. Adam gets him into a chair smoothly, pressing something warm into his hands. Ronan looks cross eyed down at a cup of ginger tea and takes a tentative sip.

“Eugh,” he groans, but takes a few more sips. The warmth feels nice in his raw, brutalized throat and stomach. Matthew presses an enthusiastic kiss to Ronan’s head and ruffles his hair, which makes Ronan’s scalp sting. God, he hates this.

The puking gets worse as the day goes on, because the universe is out to get him. He can’t even lay down because it makes bile rush up his throat, so he sits in Adam’s lap and whimpers through fits of nausea. He’s half conscious, hot, and aching when Declan comes in and starts talking about going to the hospital.

“No,” he rasps out, and Adam takes the opportunity to put a straw in his mouth. Yellow gatorade floods his mouth and he spits it out with a grimace.

“Hey,” Adam says sharply, “you need to drink.”

“Promise me you won’t take me to the hospital,” Ronan spits, staring daggers at his older brother, “And I will.”

“Okay,” Adam whispers, “No hospital.”

Ronan pukes up all 32 ounces of gatorade over the course of two hours, and falls asleep on the bathroom floor. 

Day 3

He’s taken to sleeping in the master bathroom. He can’t keep almost anything down at this point, and the fever is running out of control. He lifts his head from his sweat soaked pillow when the door cracks open, looking up at his brother from the garden tub. Declan has a roll of saltines and a cup of flat ginger ale in his hands, and even the thought of it near his mouth is enough to make Ronan scramble for the bucket on the ledge. There’s nothing to come up and his muscles are so exhausted that he can’t even go through the motions, so he just gasps and spits. His brother’s hand comes to rest on his sweat soaked neck and Ronan tries to summon the anger to shake him off but he can’t. 

“Easy,” Declan says, “I still think we should go to the hospital.”

Ronan shakes his head.

“Get Adam,” he rasps, voice broken from dehydration and stomach acid, “He doesn’t constantly bitch about going to the ER.”

“He agrees with me,” Declan says mildly, manhandling Ronan’s face up out of the bucket. Ronan closes his eyes as his brother cleans sweat and snot and bile off his face with a damp cloth. He feels weak and useless and so, so sick, and it’s pissing him off. 

“You’re not keeping fluids down,” his brother says tiredly, “and we can’t get your fever lowered. That’s generally a bad sign with withdrawal.”

“What do you know about withdrawal,” Ronan snaps. 

“What do you think we’ve been doing while you sweat years of alcohol abuse and bad decisions out of your system, Ronan?” 

Declan wraps his arms around Ronan’s bare torso and yanks him to his feet, and Ronan feels his vision black out.

“Easy there, dickhead,” Declan murmurs, “Let’s get you on the couch.”

“No,” Ronan slurs, “Wanna stay in here.”

The couch is comfortable, Ronan thinks begrudgingly, much more comfortable than the bathtub. He melts into the cushions with a whimper, turning his head into them. It’s his pillow, the one from his bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I have broth for you,” a low voice says, and then Adam’s hand rubs across Ronan’s shaved head. Ronan moans, and then he gets a whiff of the sticky, salty stink of the food in Adam’s hand and gags weakly, too tired to actually puke but so so nauseous. 

“Take it away,” he groans, “Adam please-”

“You need to try it, Ronan,” Adam says firmly, “We’ve been keeping track, and you haven’t kept anything down for longer than about an hour in almost 2 days.”

“No,” he moans, “please no, please no, please no-” he’s sobbing drily, sick to his stomach and shaking and so hot with fever his eyes hurt and itch. 

He tries the broth anyway, and it comes up in minutes, all over himself and Adam.

“Come on,” Adam murmurs, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

Ronan sits listlessly in the bathtub as Adam washes him, leaning against Adam’s bare chest. Their legs tangle together as Adam shampoos the sweat matted curls on the top of Ronan’s head.

“I do love this haircut,” Adam remarks as he moves to Ronan’s undercut, scratching lightly with his nails. Ronan dry heaves into the bucket in front of him.

“I’m dizzy,” he whispers, “Can I go to bed?”

“We need to try food again,” Adam says, “Or I’m gonna start agreeing with Declan that you need to go to the ER.”

Adam puts him into fresh clothes and brushes through Ronan’s hair then brushes his teeth for him. Ronan sits on the toilet and opens his mouth to let Adam poke around with his toothbrush. The mint flavor is the first thing Ronan has tasted in days that doesn’t make him retch. 

He remains unable to keep anything down. Eventually he curls up in Adam’s arms on the floor of his bedroom, wrapped in a single sheet, face pressed to Adam’s shoulder. He’s crying, but he’s too dehydrated to make tears. Somehow, he can still sweat and sweat he does, soaking through his shirt and boxers.

“Make it stop,” Ronan moans, “Adam, please make it stop.” 

“I can’t,” Adam whispers, rocking gently back and forth, “I wish I could, love.” 

His fever shoots up through the roof at around midnight, and there’s no longer a choice to be made. He lays in the backseat of the Volvo, groaning and sweating and shaking with his head in Adam’s lap, and lets Declan drive him to the ER.

“You got your wish,” he slurs at his brother as a nurse fights to start an IV, Adam rubbing his ribs because the muscles are locked up from puking and dehydration. Declan just sighs and pushes his sweat damp curls away from his face as the nurse misses the vein again.

Day 4

Ronan wakes up feeling terrible, but less terrible. The sheets on his legs itch, and his head is throbbing but much duller than it has been. Someone’s hand is in his, and Ronan can smell bleach and alcohol. 

Right.

Declan and Adam had bullied him into going to the hospital. Ronan groans and turns his head to the side, forcing his dry eyes to open. Declan of all people is holding his hand, one of his deceptively calloused thumbs rubbing across the back of his hand. The crook of his arm is stinging, and Ronan forces himself to look at it as Declan realizes he’s awake. 

“Hey,” his brother murmurs, one hand coming up to press against Ronan’s cheek. Ronan smacks his tongue against his teeth.

“M’thirsty,” he mumbles, and Declan spoons a couple of chips of ice into his mouth.

“Adam?” he asks raspily, throat raw. 

“He’s talking to the doctors about next steps,” his brother says, “They think you should go inpatient for a while. Adam is trying to tell them otherwise.”

“Good,” Ronan growls. He’s already so tired, just from being awake for a few minutes, “how long have I been here?”

“Been about 7 hours since they got the IV in. Once you’re hydrated we should be able to take you home. You’re burning through fluids like crazy and still sweating a ton.”

“I’m in withdrawal. Go get Adam,” Ronan says, “Want Adam. ‘M gonna be sick.”

There’s a nurse giving him nausea meds by the time Adam comes in, and Ronan rolls his head across the stiff hospital pillow to look at him. Adam smiles at him gently, stroking a hand over his head.

“Doc says when they get another bag of fluids in you we can go home,” Adam murmurs, as Ronan tugs him onto the bed to curl into him. Adam smells like coffee and deodorant and Ronan presses his cheek to Adam’s collarbone. He stretches, and presses his back into Adam’s palm.

“I’m sorry,” Ronan slurs, “I thought this would be easier.”

“I didn’t,” Adam says mildly, “You’ve been drinking like this since you were 16, and you’re 22 now.”

“Shouldn’t have made you help me,” Ronan mumbles. Adam’s grip tightens on Ronan, and Ronan feels a gentle kiss pressed to his head.

“I would have forced my way into helping anyways.”

“Love you,” Ronan mumbles. Something is pulling him back into sleep and he lets it, warm and comfortable in Adam’s embrace.

“I love you too,” Adam says, “even if you’re an idiot sometimes.” 

“M’ your idiot,” Ronan says, yawning.

“Go to sleep, idiot.”

Ronan does.


End file.
